"Which are?" Ariadne asks. Pasiphae shoots her a glare like a mother scolding a child who has spoken out of turn.
"Which are," she answers, making her reply to me, "to coalesce all of Osteria into one kingdom with the Council as its ruling body. We would do away with this confusing mishmash of democracies, monarchies, and places somewhere in between like Athenos. We would have a single president ruling over all." She gives me a coquettish look as if I’ll be fooled into thinking I would be that president.
I leave her offer hanging in the air as I take another mouthful of cheese and bread then wash the food down with wine. In a lengthy pause like mine, most people would make concessions and give explanations, but she only watches me eat, waiting for a response like a patient negotiator. When my glass is empty I set it down. Only then do I respond.
"I am going to have to decline. As you say, Minoa is a strong kingdom. Ever since my great-grandfather founded it, its wealth and strength have done nothing but increase. This kingdom is my inheritance, my pride, and my home. I will not give it over to the rule of the Osteria Council, regardless of who is president."
"I misspoke. I forgot to mention you will become a member of the Council."
I laugh heartily. "And what? Go trudging off to the Council Building every time a debate needs to be settled or when one of the other members can’t decide which cloak goes best with his eyes? No thanks. I’ve better things to do with my time."
"You wouldn’t have to come every time," she says and I take a bit of joy at the hint of pleading in her voice.
"No? And when I don’t attend, my stake in the negotiations gets whittled away piece by piece until my rule and Minoa’s prosperity is nothing more than a memory. I’m sorry, Pasiphae, but you have to understand that I must decline."
"At least think on it," she says as she twirls a finger around the rim of her cup. "Things often look different in the morning."
"Things look brighter, but not different. Now," I say, standing up and brushing the crumbs from my tunic, "let’s do away with these nibbles and go have a real meal at Yerni’s. He should have just opened for lunch, if my belly isn’t mistaken."
With a sour look on her face, Pasiphae declines saying she wants to rest. Ariadne, annoyed at Pasiphae’s attitude toward her, refuses with excuses that she has duties to tend to at the temple. As she leaves, Ariadne leans in to kiss me farewell on the cheek and whispers, "Do not give in to her. And I don’t mean the proposal she’s just made. She’s not here to play a fair game."
So, alone, I head over to Yerni’s to lose my bad mood in a bowl of good food. As I walk, I debate with myself about which stew I will have today and it doesn’t take long for my mind to push away the Council’s request. But the closer I get to his shop, the more I realize something isn’t right. Where’s the meaty aroma that normally wafts up the arcade, tugging me into the eatery like a rope? All I smell is the sweet scent of the violas in the baskets lining the passageway. When I get to the shop I let out a groan and wonder if the gods hate me for not bowing to them. A note is tacked to the door of Yerni’s shop saying he’s been taken ill and food will not be served this afternoon. After staring at the note for some moments receiving many commiserating pats on my shoulder from my fellow Minoans, I return to my palace, but the snacks from earlier have already been packed away. As this is the night of one of my dinners, the kitchen will be a hive of busy cooks and I’ve learned my lesson not to get in their way. Sulking, I go to my office to tend to the day’s business.
With only a platter of snacks for my midday meal, once the sun has dipped below my kingdom’s walls, my belly is rumbling louder than the train’s wheels. As soon as the day darkens, I rush to the dining hall where a group of Minoan citizens has been seated at my table with Pasiphae in the chair next to mine. Thanks to the plunging neckline of her dress, each time she moves, I can see a portion of her small but pert breasts. I’ve always been partial to more ample women like Ariadne, but something about Pasiphae’s lean frame stirs my curiosity. When I notice the dark mark of what appears to be a tattoo just above her nipple, I’m seized with a need to know what it is.
Do not make bedfellows of council members, I tell myself, filling a plate with food so I can at least focus on satisfying one of my needs. Once some of the hunger has subsided, I allow my guests to begin their complaints and suggestions, hoping their concerns will distract me from the woman next to me. Although my people are normally curious about visitors from other parts of Osteria and will bombard them with questions about their homelands, Pasiphae’s curt responses to their initial inquiries halt any further engagement with her.
When the meal is over, I see my guests out then guide Pasiphae to the courtyard where a jug of wine waits. I leave the wine and pour a cup of water instead. I don’t want to lose my senses to the grape.
"You must be tired after such a long day," I say.
"Not really," she says and sits herself so close to me our arms touch. I’m a big man by any standard. Not fat, but definitely sturdy. Pasiphae seems so small next to me I worry one wrong move will break her. I inch away, just a bit to give her room, but she scoots over to close the gap. "It’s chilly tonight," she says, hugging her arms to herself.
"Apologies. I’m rarely cold so I forget to think about it. Did you want to go inside?"
"No." In a move even the most suave seducer would admire, she turns, swings her leg over, and straddles me. The long slit up the side of her dress gives her legs the freedom to do so. "You can warm me."
I make an honest effort to refuse her, but I swear the hunger in her kiss would weaken any man’s willpower. As with any of my appetites, my lust is easily aroused. I push the dipping bodice of her gown aside to reveal her tattooed breast. The mark is a silhouette of a dog.
"I was wondering what that was," I say and lean down to kiss it. Her moan breaks the final stick of my resolve. I ease back on the couch as she shifts my tunic up.
"You are like your bulls," she says. I have only a moment to wonder if my size will hurt her before she eases herself onto me.
It takes little time for both of us to achieve our pleasure. She slides off of me and resumes her place beside me as I pour a cup of wine that we share. After she takes the final sip and sets the cup down, she starts stroking me through my tunic and grins at my immediate response to her touch. Despite the flush in her cheeks, she shivers in the chill of the evening air. "Let’s go to my bedchamber," I say in a tone I hope indicates I do not mean to sleep. "It will be more comfortable there."
I take her hand, but she shifts so I am holding her wrist. We pass a few servants; some give looks of amusement, others seem concerned. Once we reach my rooms, Pasiphae slips out of my grip and out of her dress then climbs into my bed. I’m to her in less than a heartbeat, exploring between her legs with my fingers as my tongue tickles her nipples. Just as I’m ready to enter her, she pulls back. The passion that was so quickly kindled earlier is completely absent from her face. I start to wonder if she had been faking it, but get no chance to linger on the thought.
"Join Minoa to the Osteria Council," she demands.
"Let’s talk politics later," I say tugging her to me.
"This comes at a price." She rubs her hands down her body.
"I’ll pay you in pleasure," I say, still trying to be the lover, still trying to get lust to override her sense of duty as it has done mine. I pull her on top of me, sliding into her, but she only sits there staring at me. I move my hips, but she is surprisingly strong and pushes herself down to restrict my motion.
"You will join the Council or I will climb off you and leave you throbbing." Her voice is filled with the tone of someone giving an ultimatum.
I push her off and jump from the bed, stomping away to get as far from her as possible.
"My hand serves me well enough and doesn’t put conditions on the pleasure it gives me. If you can’t stay here and allow us to enjoy one another without consequence, then please go to your bedchamber and leave on t
he first train. You have had my answer already. I am more than willing to join you in bedsport, but I will not hand Minoa over to the Osteria Council. Politics and pleasure are two entirely separate matters in my kingdom."
The lack of hesitation in my refusal throws her for a moment. I do want her and may have been deceived into the first seduction, but I am not fool enough to let passion ruin my kingdom. The look of disbelief washes from her face to be replaced with a seductress’s smile. She slinks over to me. Her hand reaches for my groin and starts stroking. But it is too late. The loss of my trust in her dampens my mood as much as if her body stank of fouled stable straw. Gently, kindly, I push her hand away. I step over to open the door, gesturing her to go.
"Please, go to your bedchamber. Perhaps tomorrow—"
"There will be no tomorrow," she says. The look of seduction becomes a harsh sneer. "You refuse my offer? Push me from your bed? You will regret it. If you do not agree to join the Council, your kingdom will suffer."
I’m a mild-mannered man and can withstand much abuse, but I will not abide being threatened by a guest in my own home.
"The Council can do nothing to me," I say. "What, will they tax me on how much my bulls shit?"
"Do you think I don’t have other ways of getting what I want? Unless you agree to give Minoa’s resources over to the Council, I will tell everyone you forced me. Just remember, we passed several of your servants on the way up here. What do you think they saw? You had me by my wrist, I followed behind you, and I made sure to keep a look of fear on my face as you pulled me past them. If you agree," her fingers dance through the patch of hair at the top of her thighs, "we can enjoy each other the rest of the night. Refuse, and I have your own household to testify that you took me against my will."
I’m too disgusted by her threats and her blackmail and her belief that I could ever consider giving up my kingdom’s rights for a night of bedsport to be aroused by her fondling herself. Minoa is strong. We have high walls, a strong defensive force, and plenty of resources within the city to withstand a siege. And, even though the kingdoms stay out of poli affairs, if matters get bad enough, I’m certain a few poli will come to our aid. Thinking of Iolalus of Portaceae, I know at least some Osterian leaders are too noble to allow anyone to be bullied.
"Leave here. Our business is done. My answer is no." I pick up her dress and toss it to her. She slips it on, but it ends up off center. The plunging neckline hanging askew makes the garment look poorly made, not sexy, and emphasizes how boyishly thin she is. How did I ever desire her enough to entangle myself with her?
"You will regret it," she says as she steps past me and into the hall.
"I already do." I say to myself as I shut the door behind her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Odysseus
"I DON'T KNOW what to do with him. I can't watch him all day every day, but at the same time I’m afraid to leave him."
I fling a rock over the surface of the Illamos River. Instead of skipping across the water, it merely bounces once before sinking.
"I would've thought the news might bring some happiness to him," Hermes says. The god, my great grandfather on my mother’s side, has been a true companion since my cousin Jason attempted to kill himself after the murder of his children and then required constant vigilance when he fell into a state of permanent drunkenness. I am thankful for Hermes’s support, but I sometimes get the feeling his attention has more to do with him avoiding Olympus than being helpful to me.
"It's a generous gift but it won't bring his children back," I say, then hesitate before speaking the question on my lips. For weeks now I’ve wanted to ask Hermes if he could sway Hades to release Jason’s twins from the Chasm. Not to return them to life permanently, but just long enough to let my cousin say a proper farewell to the babies he knew for only a single day before they were taken from him. But I hold my tongue. It’s too slippery a slope to ask the gods for such unnatural favors.
"No, I suppose it wasn’t." Hermes distractedly waves off a plump tabby that’s showing too much interest in the wings fluttering at the heels of his sandals. From the heart of town come the annoyed calls of several peacocks. The cat scurries away at the sudden noise.
"Hera’s renewed interest in Portaceae has done the polis wonders," I prod. I know Hermes’s avoidance of Olympus must have something to do with Hera because every time I mention her he shuts up tighter than a brothel to a beggar. As usual, he sidesteps Hera's role in Portaceae’s newfound strength.
"Iolalus is an amazing Solon." This is true. Iolalus is a natural leader and people love him. The previous Solon, Iolalus’s cousin, Eury Stephanos, mismanaged Portaceae and dribbled out drachars like a leaky faucet drips water. Still, it was Hera’s misplaced hatred of Iolalus’s other cousin, Hercules Dion, and her disregard for the polis she was meant to protect that eventually brought Portaceae to a state of near ruin. Now that she is back to overseeing her polis as she should, and an honest leader is in place, Portaceae is being reborn. "It’s good of him to share his workers with you as his projects are completed."
"Yes, well, it’s good of me to have raised the forces that protected Portaceae from being taken over by the Areans last summer," I say lightheartedly.
"At the expense of your cousin’s stability."
The stinging comment deflates my moment of good humor, but it’s true. If my cousin and I hadn't been away protecting Portaceae from what we thought was an aggressive takeover by the Aryana polis, Pelias wouldn’t have had the opportunity to make his real move and take control of our own polis, Illamos Valley. Pelias would have never sent my cousin on a fool’s errand. Jason would never have met Medea. My cousin would never have been betrayed by her and his mind would still be healthy. I grit my teeth. What was I to do? As a commander, it’s my duty to answer calls to defend other poli against common enemies. Is it my fault Jason came with me thinking he needed to prove his worth to Aeson when I could have told him his father never saw him as anything but worthy?
I fling another stone into the swift current of the river, then turn away. I can’t lose myself in a sea of what ifs. After all, nothing could have prevented the earthquake that hit our polis. The shaking reduced to rubble nearly every building in Salemnos, Illamos Valley’s seat of power, and I think this was the final straw that broke my cousin’s mental back last winter. Thankfully, under Hera’s guidance and Iolalus’s management, Portaceae is now so wealthy, that Iolalus is glad to send supplies and workers to rebuild Salemnos.
The cat has returned and does his best to stalk us, but his tubby belly makes his movements more waddle than slink. With the orange hunter following, we make our way up the stairs from the river’s bank. At the top, our way is blocked by a line of workers taking materials to a building site. In his muscular arms, a centaur carries a load of beams as if they are no heavier than matchsticks.
"They do love to show off their strength, don't they?" I comment.
"That's it." Hermes’s sandal wings start fluttering excitedly. The cat makes a leap at them, but Hermes steps aside leaving the cat swatting at nothing but air with a confused expression on his face. "You and Jason were happy as kids at Chiron's Fields, weren't you?"
Jason certainly was. As a noble-born child he had every right to be educated by the wise centaur, Chiron. But I was born a bastard. Bastard children did not, as a rule, get such benefits. However, my uncle Aeson, Jason’s father, insisted I be treated no differently than his own son, including how and where I was educated. While I appreciated the instruction I received and was never treated differently, I always felt I didn’t quite belong.
"Happy enough. Why?"
"Take him back there. He needs to be somewhere with happy memories and I’ve no doubt Chiron will have some idea of how to help him."
"A better idea than the Portacean medics and Herenes? Won’t Hera feel insulted?" I ask pointedly, trying to goad Hermes.
"You know how the gods are supposed to survive solely on ambrosia?" I nod, not really
knowing what exactly ambrosia is, but I’m familiar with the tale. "Hera likes to dress her ambrosia with a sauce of supposed insults; it’s what she thrives on."
"You and Hera aren’t getting along?" I ask as if this hasn’t been obvious for weeks. I keep talking before he can deny the question. "Seems odd then that you should spend so much time with me here in Portaceae; the very place where Hera is spending most of her time lately."
"I—" Hermes starts, denial weighing down the small word. But he seems unable to come up with an excuse. Hermes is so distracted by having been caught out that the tabby finally seizes his chance. Haunches waggling, he launches an ungraceful but successful attack on the sandal wings. With a horrified yelp, Hermes disappears in a puff of blue haze. The cat, looking quite pleased with his kill—a single feather—purrs loudly as he pounces again on his prize and bats it about. I scratch him on the head then make a shortcut through another rebuilding site to Hera Way and follow it to the House of Hera.
* * *
"He’s not getting any better," Cecilia says. Of the Herene healers, who are known to be the most highly skilled medics in all of Osteria, she is the best. And yet she can do nothing for my cousin. He’s always been a bit of donkey twat, but this depression clings to him worse than stink to a satyr in summer. Lately, I think it might be easier to wrestle a mountain cat than to pry from him the jugs of wine he nurses from the time he wakes until the time he passes out, which today, Cecilia has reported to me, was a little after the sun reached its midday height.
I feel for my cousin. He has lost so much in so little time and my efforts to rally him have done no good. I had hoped the Herenes could help him. Although they have ensured he eats each day—which has cured him of the malnutrition that had left him physically weak—they can do nothing more than alleviate the headaches he wakes with every morning. At times I have thought of asking Iolalus to lock my cousin in the prison beyond the city walls to keep him away from booze. The Herenes have duties to attend to and cannot guard Jason every minute of the day. Too easily and too often he sneaks out of the Herene complex and the tavern keepers are too willing to make a drachar, or ten, off him. I can’t blame them; his weakness means a hefty profit for them.
The Maze of Minos Page 6
